And Even God Weeps
by pyracanth
Summary: The events in the human world have ended; Tsukune and Moka remain lovers, a girl lays dying from heartbreak, another is slowly going insane from desire. Far away, in America, a college student signs up for a year at the newly dubbed "Mikogami" Academy. His arrival there is a catalyst; memories better forgotten begin to surface, while a dark force begins to make its move. (No ship.)
1. Prologue

_**La plus belle des rises du Diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas.**_

**The finest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.**

**-Charles Baudelaire**

* * *

PROLOGUE

Bones crunched under heavy feet, and dead muscle burst with reserved blood.

The figure stalked the empty courtyard while death accompanied him, whispering wooing comments that fell on deaf ears. Why would he listen? For no simple demon would pierce his soul, not now, not ever.

The sky was broken, grey and dark and roiling, lightning flashing in the distance and enormous thunder rolling across the clouds. Perhaps it was earth weeping for the death of a god, defeated by a mere mortal. Well, maybe not just a_ mere _mortal, but a mortal nonetheless. And to say that the Fallen One was a god was also up for debate. If a man goes insane and no one notices, does that make him a god?

But no rain fell here. It purposely avoided the stench of death, strong in the bitter salt wind and swirling into mad laughter as it swept among the dead bodies that littered the place.

It was too late. Too late. It wasn't just that everyone here was dead, those who lived were long gone! This island, once floating by engines that had long since imploded, had crashed into Tokyo, or whatever city it was, the only city anyone knew that was in Japan was Tokyo, and the island rebounded, sending it flying into the Pacific. The battle had just ended, and he could still hear the screams, though much more distant than before.

He wrung out the last of the seawater from his coat. It spilled on the face of a particularly ugly corpse of a ghoul. The body had been ripped apart, clean in half by some force that pulled it from both sides. Its intestines let out a foul odor of blood and shit, but mostly blood, the life force of so many humans that fed this monstrosity now slowly leaking out of its open sides.

He made precautions to purposely step on the brute's ugly face.

It was too late, now. Even that last bitch, too damn stubborn to die, had dragged herself off and onto some emergency boat, pretending to be a victim of a terrorist act and acting all cute for the American Coast Guard that had happened to pass a few miles away. She had used up the last of her devilry to protect this place from being seen by mortal eyes- though doing that made her just as mortal. The figure vaguely wondered whether the ungrateful bitch had killed her saviors or not.

He mumbled uncertainly to himself, and the voice echoed among the vaulted corridors as he took a single step into what remained of the Euro-esque castle. The fetid odor of death was rank here as well, though human intermingled with it. Fresh human, not digested. He wondered if that was the ghoul who had rampaged in the city. The boy was some hybrid, now, and that just wouldn't do. Just wouldn't do.

He took no more steps into the castle. He already knew what he had to do. He turned on his heel, and back to where he was needed.


	2. 1: Drop One and Find It

1

Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA

*** year(s) ago

TIME was praising the President again. Some bullshit about gay marriage and how it "changes America." Journalists say what they will, but from what Wilhelm was hearing, he could only say that the hate was getting worse. Not that he had anything against the haters, or the gays themselves. They did nothing for him, why should he care if one side strolls down the street with "GOD HATES YOU" signs and the other rainbow hearts and glitter? (Okay, maybe he did mind those gay pride festivals; the sheer false femininity was sickening.)

Wilhelm put down the magazine, face down.

The office here was dull, duller than even the rest of the social services. Perhaps the government believed that if they made their orphanages (which officials claimed weren't actually orphanages, but rather "child rehabilitation centers") dull enough, when the kids came out they would be just as boring as everyone else without having to do all the parenting stuff. Wilhelm wasn't sure if it had worked on him yet.

And the New Mexican accents to the place made it even worse. Sure, New Mexican art was fine, if arranged the right way, but putting a turquoise cross on a super-white wall and a random painting of an Indian in the middle of an otherwise blank wall did not help the atmosphere. Not to mention most of the workers here were white, unless you counted the illegal immigrants that worked as the janitors and the cleaning ladies for the kids' room, but no one, not even the super-liberal wackjobs here, actually cared about those riff-raff.

The director called him in. There were a few other kids left besides him; one was a twitchy ten year old who had obviously gotten in some kind of trouble, judging by how his eyes kept switching from the door to the floor. There was a big, beefy kid who had also done something wrong, and Wilhelm was smart enough to know that the kid was a bully who tormented kids just for the heck of it; unlike the cinema's version of the classical bully, this kid always got in trouble, since even a liberal could see the fat kid pummeling any random six year old that managed to even slightly enter his line of vision. Then there were the high school grads, only three besides Wilhelm who, like him, were to talk with the director about colleges and careers. He had a seen a few around at school, but he never talked with any of them, or anybody that was even distantly related to Social Services, for that matter. Hell, he didn't talk to most people.

The director's own office was near as bland as the waiting room, though in its own way. The man had forsaken the petty New Mexican rest-stop souvenirs for the more traditional pictures of family and friends, which to Wilhelm's eye may have actually been interesting if they didn't have the director in it. Otherwise, it was just another office- comfy swivel chairs, expensive oak or whatever type of wood it was desk, some diplomas on the wall. Boring. Standard liberal fare.

The director was perhaps the blandest thing of all in the whole of Social Services. Maybe Wilhelm could have been less judgmental about the man, and judging wasn't a thing he liked to do (but in a place full of liberals and nothing better to do, why not?), but this man, this monstrosity of bland, this eldritch horror of mind-numbing agony, was the most boring person on the planet. His repulsively dapper suit was enough to send even the most vilely happy and excited California valley-girl cheerleader in the world into a deep stupor. His demeanor was so cheerful that it almost sent Wilhelm into another epileptic fit. He had already had one just last night, and God knew he was dead tired from it. He took a few pills before entering the room, just to be safe.

"Ah, Wilhelm, buddy!" The director said, sporting his false smile and spouting out his signature cut and paste tagline as Wilhelm walked in, avoiding the top of the door by a mere few inches. "Come in, sit down! We've got a lot of ground to cover, today!" Wilhelm shut the door so that the others wouldn't have to bear his pain and agony. Not yet, anyway. He sat down.

"Boy, have you gotta lot of colleges on your trail! We've got more brochures and invitations coming for you than the rest of your fellows combined!" He pointed to a stack of papers that seemed about to tip over and spill on the floor. Brightly colored brochures, many-stamped letters, all addressed to the Social Services of Albuquerque. And him. Okay, maybe he had been a tad too smart- or what people assumed was intelligence. All he did was listen, memorize everything important the teacher and/or the textbook said, and barfed it back up on any piece of homework or test that was thrown at him. It got him A+ in all his classes, though, so he knew the strategy worked. He wasn't actually learning anything at all; else, he'd probably be out of here already and doing something useful with his life, instead of having some government lackey pushing him to go to yet another school for another four years of his life.

"Let's start with your top schools, the ones that fit your chosen profession…" the director scrolled through his computer, squinting at the information. Wilhelm doubted that the page was very full. He should know; he wrote the thing himself. "And you want to be a… professional graphic artist. Hm. You don't see too much of that nowadays, at least here in Albuquerque. Doesn't pay well, I think, in New Mexico. Planning on moving to New York, or maybe Europe? Those are the hotspots for such a profession."

"Japan was the place I'm aiming for." This wasn't a lie. Honestly, Wilhelm would've preferred to work anywhere, even New Mexico, as long as he was out of here. He was decent enough with programs such as Photoshop and Illustrator and even big-brand stuff; he had saved up enough to buy Adobe Creative Suite, and he was a hand at that. Japan had all those crazy people that poured their stuff onto every street sign they could get a hold of, and were paid reasonably well. Maybe not the place he'd be likely to reach, but he might as well try.

"Really? That's a great goal to set for yourself!" Which really meant: _That's nice. I sincerely doubt that a po' boy like you could get anywhere in life, but, hell. You're screwed, esse. _"You've got some big-name colleges after you, Mr. Schugen. Brown, MIT, Yale, Oxford (the English one, I believe), though those don't seem to fit your interests." He glanced to the stack of pamphlets. "We did receive several invitations from the Art Colleges- the Colorado one, the California branch. Good schools. Full Sail, UAT, Rocky Mountain. Yes, very good."

Wilhelm ignored the old man as he droned on about the merits of individual schools, the occasional rumor, or the bad jokes that liberals seem to find so hilarious. He took to perusing the brochures. Every letter had been opened already, courtesy of the US government that kept trying to weed out hoodlums and terrorists from Social Services even though they kept putting more and more kids into it. But brochures were brochures, and they happened to be far more interesting than anything the director had to say.

It was exactly as the director said. Every single pamphlet was from a big-namer. Rich, powerful, money-devouring universities that planned on making the next debt-ridden, unemployed bloodsucker. He threw away the shitty ones that fit that description, which the director didn't seem to mind, since he probably realized they were for Wilhelm.

One slipped through his fingers. It fell in the trashcan, which was well-deserved seeing it was another Harvard. His eyes casually fell on the next one, and then stopped.

He looked up. The director was bemoaning of Ivy-League graduates and how people like Wilhelm were the future of America. Wilhelm gladly interrupted him to answer his own burgeoning questions. "What is this? This school here?"

The director shut up for a moment to examine the pamphlet. Carefully, he read the blurb that adorned the front, muttering to himself the words so as to reassure himself. "Weird," he said aloud. "You don't see Asian schools send invitations to American students. Not at all. A racial thing, I'm sorry to say. But, if you got the right grades, I suppose they might…"

"Yeah, that's not my problem." Wilhelm grumbled, not angry but disappointed. "I don't care whether the school's on Mars. My problem is the fact that the school's a frikkin' high school. A high school. Not a college. What's up with this?"

The director took a look at it again. He pointed at a line of text. "Here it says that the school is for grades one through twelve, with a separate college facility and dorm. I've heard of certain schools in Asia having similar systems, to prevent the problem of having too many schools- well, with your grades, why would it pop up if it was a bad school? Take a sneak peek; see what it offers on the college programs. It might have a good graphics art program you'd enjoy!"

Wilhelm sighed, taking back the leaflet with an angry snap the director overlooked. Mikogami Academy, it was called. Best and safest school in all of Japan, it said. Renamed, it said, from another name it didn't discuss, to exemplify great leaps in education brought forth by the headmaster, Tenmei Mikogami. Already, Wilhelm was getting some of that narcissistic vibe coming from it. He continued reading it from the heck of it, though the cheesy cover with smiling students was starting to give him doubts.

The college programs were in the back. His eyes shot straight for the arts, trying his best to ignore any subject that could somehow be related to high, middle, or elementary school core classes. It was hard to, seeing how they exemplified those more than others less desirable to the strict, business-oriented Asian populace. But there it was, in all of its 8-size font printed glory: Graphic Arts. Under it, in even tinier text, _all Arts students are only required a year in the program to attain a bachelor's_.

"You know," he said to the director, who had been, again, off on his own rant, "I think I'll choose this school."

The director blinked. "Wait- that school? But- you only just learned of it, you have to get to know and appreciate a school before you decide- you just can't-"

Wilhelm grinned. He loved seeing a liberal stutter. "None of the other schools interest me. This school has a program that I like. The tuition is- hey, only two thousand dollars a semester, your Social Services people can actually serve me and save their cheap asses some money. Sign me up."

"Mister- I will not tolerate such- such- precociousness!" The bland face the director always wore was gone now, replaced by one of indignation. Wilhelm's grin grew even wider.

"You're obligated to, according to Mr. Obama there-" the younger man pointed to the classic picture hanging next to the director's diploma, as if a forty year old had been responsible for the fifty year old's education. "And I want to go to this school and get out of here. Now, if you wanna go and complain about it, that's fine, but that means me staying here even longer and, if you reject me in not a nice way, bugging your ass till the government starts caring. Which it won't."

The director shuddered. His illusion that he liked kids quickly vanished, replaced by an indignant expression and sputtering lips. Sure, the man got a few delinquents every once in a while that threw the occasional fit or glared sullenly at the official. But no one even dared to assert themselves. Everyone feared this bland little man, for reasons that most likely involved the assurance of the liberal complaining to his superiors and having any naysayers shoved into destitution. Wilhelm possessed no such fear, just blatant boredom.

It took a moment, but the man nodded. "Fine, Mr. Schugen. Fine. Right away. It's your future." _It's your funeral_. Wilhelm almost laughed. The little man was halfway red and blue, a patriotic American flag right there on his face. "You can always ask nicer, Mr. Schugen. I would've signed you up either way."

Wilhelm doubted that. He had been in the system long enough to know that this guy blamed his "scatterbrains" for "systematic errors" that occurred every so often. Wilhelm had barely known a guy that had left for college- he had applied to one school, and one school only, which Wilhelm only remembered as either the University of New Mexico or New Mexico State University (and no, those aren't the same); the kid later came back bawling about how he had been sent to a community college, one not even in Albuquerque.

From the rumors that circulated amongst both the kids and the staff, and from only the snippets Wilhelm managed to catch, the kid had been rejected only by the director, not the college. When the application came through, the director made the switch by forging everything on the document, and sending the kid to some outskirt and insignificant college. The kid had, apparently, spoken badly of a certain gay person that may have been the director's son (or daughter, since both of the director's children were homosexual and the details were sketchy on the gender point). The director, in his 1st Amendment-hating liberalness, changed the kid's school so he would never succeed. The kid, heartbroken by the news, just hit the streets as soon as his eighteenth birthday passed.

While the director typed furiously on his computer, Wilhelm left. What really made his day was not just the sputtering and humiliating of the director, it was the faces of the other kids as he exited that office as they saw him smiling.


	3. 2: Tokyo and an Eccentric Driver

2

Over the Pacific Ocean

Now

"The plane is now reaching its apogee. You may now turn on electronics. Please enjoy the rest of your flight." Those were the words that waked Wilhelm, and he silently cursed the flight attendants for having the speaker so loud. Even under the thickest, fluffiest pillow he had managed to filch from the Social Services center's bedrooms, the obnoxiously normal voice that oozed out so smoothly and orderly that it raised chaos and discord in Wilhelm's brain still seemed to leak through the cotton. By now, he wished he had one of those Beats and an iPod so that he wouldn't have to listen to it. Sadly, Social Services were only kind enough to finance his endeavors, not his possessions.

The pillow was warm and blissful to be between, and the silenced roar of the engines lulled him, but no cloudy sleep fell upon him. He struggled to get back to sleep, screaming at his mind to shut off so that he could time travel without all the science, but sadly, the snores of the woman next to him threw him off that track.

It took about 12 hours to reach Tokyo, as the captain said at the beginning of the flight; 12 hours too many for Wilhelm. All the times he had taken the train from Albuquerque to Santa Fe to get to his job, Wilhelm would refuse to sit and waste away, preferring to pace the length of the train. Sure, people stared at him as if he was a terrorist, and the conductors saw him as a freeloader, but it sure beat writhing in his chair for an hour. However, if he paced an airplane, he'd immediately be singled out as a terrorist and tackled before he could do any "harm."

He popped out of the security of his pillow. The blast of cold air from the air conditioning near shocked him awake, though his grogginess superseded that. The woman next to him, now fast asleep (and, to Wilhelm's amusement, was leaning on the dude next to her, who looked completely awkward in this situation), had apparently thought the airplane was too hot under her fleshy folds of blubber, and put those damn air conditioners up to the max. Wilhelm turned his off.

Raising a hand for the flight attendant, he asked the lady for a shot of water and a sleeping pill. She obliged him on the water, but explained that the airliner didn't give away sleeping pills anymore, due to health and safety reasons, which Wilhelm could only decipher as "spontaneous dying may occur." He took the water with a grimace and a thank you, then slunk back into his seat as far as he could with only an inch or two for his tall frame to sink into.

He looked out the window, and voila, obviously what he didn't expect, there was the Pacific Ocean under them, and a few wispy clouds interspersed as well, though it seemed as if the skies were clear today. Nothing much of interest was happening, no matter how much he tried to imagine an enormous sea serpent leaping out of the water in an attempt to swallow the plane only to miss and fall back into the sea. God refused to oblige, and the water remained flat and clear.

He did wonder if they would see any islands while they flew, but his forcefully suppressed memory of science class resurfaced to remind him that, when flying to Japan, pilots would take a curved route that bent northward to avoid flying a longer distance. Would everything disappoint him so?

Perhaps not, for as soon as he drunk his water, his eyes began to droop, just as he was lamenting on how he only woke up for just a few damn minutes, as if God was seriously trying to piss him off.

* * *

The coffee in Tokyo was good. Overloaded with creamer and sugar, along with flavoring, injected caffeine, and GMOs, but that is why Starbucks is so amazing. One can find it anywhere in the world, like some café version of McDonalds (no matter how much McDonalds wanted to be one), and finding a shop, any kind of shop with English-speaking people, was a Godsend. Seeing that title the first time in Tokyo, that pure, English title in bold letters, with that random mermaid symbol right next to it, it was as if Jesus came from heaven to personally give Wilhelm a shot of espresso and a delicious mocha frappuccino. Sure, Wilhelm could speak Japanese just fine, he had studied his ass off to do so, but the way everyone here spoke the language, with weird inflections and chopping off entire prefixes, it was impossible to understand a word! English was a language of compromise, removal, and replacement, it could allow for some maneuverability, but Japanese was a super-formal language that required super-formal arrangement. He didn't get it.

Being the only white guy in a whole-country radius did help, a bit, though Wilhelm's mane of red hair threw people off a bit whenever he talked to them. They hadn't seen such a hair color like that before, most likely, and maybe thought of him as some stupid anime-wannabe from America. But, being so American, some helpful people did switch to English to help him with finding the bag retrieval line and all that, though they gave him the strange looks he would expect if he was some stupid American anime-wannabe.

Wilhelm's admittance letter had mentioned a chauffeur coming to pick him up from the airport, but if the holding up a sign cliché ran true, then the chauffeur wasn't here. Now that he thought about it, though the thought was only a passing one, the brochure didn't have any address on it in case the chauffeur didn't show up and a student had or wanted to take a taxi.

So he waited. He read the first newspaper he could grab, avoiding the American news, then sat down with his drink at the only available table out of a few hundred or so- and he had only grabbed it from a strategy of snatching from the first family that got up and left. Reading, the Tokyo Times were blazing this huge headline, "Destruction in Yokosuka- a hundred citizens killed, near a hundred missing, many soldiers, as of yet uncounted, dead." Pretty dark story, right off the bat. It did not concern Wilhelm, though. Yokosuka was a long way from- Shinjuku? That vicinity? Wherever Wilhelm was, he knew it didn't need to involve him. However, he read on.

For such a devastating headline, it barely had any text to go along with it. It mentioned the deaths, and the destruction entailed, but no cause for the deaths and destruction were discussed. It seemed as if Obama had written this! Cover up, definitely a cover up. Another industrial accident, maybe, from yet another tsunami? Looking around from the edge of the paper, other people who had picked the paper, Times or not, were wearing these horrified expressions. Wilhelm blushed when he realized that though this destruction may not apply to him, but others with family and friends in Yokosuka may be worried sick about whether their confidents were part of that hundred. He folded up the newspaper, and took a long drink to wake himself up.

This airport was huge, so huge the one in Albuquerque couldn't even compare. People rushed in and rushed out in a gushing river of humanity, and the mass of black-haired heads shuffled along like ants. Wilhelm towered above them all, but he still couldn't see anything past three people in front of him. He had already had to dump out his coffee because he'd never be able to drink it in this perpetually shifting crowd without spilling it, and dumping it out was a struggle, since he had to cut through some hundreds of people to get to the bathroom trashcan, and then cut again through another few hundreds. Really, all he was trying to do was go with the flow so as to not get crushed, and find the exit, again (he had already found it while searching for a place to eat and checking if his chauffeur was here, but retracing his steps amongst this crowd did not turn out to be easy).

He asked one lady (who turned out to be a cross dresser, a very convincing one at that, but no woman would be that flat and have a suspicious lump in her crotch) and "she" said to turn left at the next fork, and keep going until it was on his right hand-side. He thanked "her" and got his ass to that left fork as fast as he could.

It was evening here, near three pm, if Wilhelm's pre- traveling adjusted cheap plastic analog watch could be trusted. Being December, the sun was already halfway to resting on the horizon and turning the sky red. The exit faced the parking garage, and the shadow of the garage blocked his view of the city, though the very tops of the skyline's greatest skyscrapers poked out from above the blocky building. Taxis lined up along the entrance's curb, chauffeurs leaning on their respective cars, holding up signs with their client's name, some in Japanese, some in English, some in both, and a smattering of other languages.

And there was his name, a wee bit down the line on the right. The driver had lazily just left it on the ground pointing toward the entrance so he could take a smoke. Wilhelm jogged there to avoid the push of the stream.

The driver, wearing dark Ray-Bans, spoke before Wilhelm was even ten steps away. "Wilhelm Schugen?" he said in an exhausted monotone. The guy spoke without any audible accent, though he clipped the "sch" in Schugen. "I presume?" he continued in English. The man was at least a foot shorter than Wilhelm, but he didn't look at the kid in the eye. He stared ahead unwaveringly. Was he blind?

"Yes, that's me. Are you from Mikogami?"

"You speak good Japanese. Formal, yet you emulate the Tokyo accent well. And yes, I'm here to drive you to the Academy." He took a deep breath of smoke, then let it out in content. He looked up at Wilhelm, and his eyebrows rose, a good sign that he wasn't blind. "Tall, aren't you? You stick out more than a sore thumb among all these short Asians here."

"And you're not Asian?"

"Do I look it?" The driver was average height, maybe a little more, though from Wilhelm's perspective, everyone just seemed short. The guy had a carefully groomed goatee that showed more expertise than what Wilhelm tried to do with his burgeoning beard, and the hair on top of his skull was close-cropped and flattened from the hat which for the present lay on top of the taxi. His glasses blocked his eyes, so Wilhelm wasn't sure if they possessed the Asian signature. In the end, Wilhelm just shrugged. "It doesn't matter, kid. I'm done smoking here, get in the car." He threw the butt on the ground and stepped on it, putting on his hat.

Wilhelm took out his own pack of cigarettes. He switched to English. "Unless you have a no-smoking-in-the-taxi policy, I'm taking my own joint for a little while." He brought out a cheap BIC lighter, and ignited the end of one, sticking the butt in his mouth.

The driver got out one of his own, and spoke in English as well. "Ain't you a bit young to smoke?"

Wilhelm shrugged with his shoulders and his eyebrows. "The cops don't care. I was sixteen when I started, to get the edge off my… problems, and I did it in front of Social Services every day. They never cared. Do you mind?"

The chauffeur shook his head. "No. We can smoke in the taxi, as long as the windows are open. There's an ashtray inside, too. Put your bags in the-" He finally noticed Wilhelm's bag- or lack of it. "That tiny backpack? That's all?"

"And a comfy pillow, too. I think I'll keep it on me." Both driver and passenger got in the car. "How far is Mikogami, again? The brochure doesn't mention where it is, or anything."

The driver took off his sunglasses. "Couldn't let anybody see me without these."

"What the fuck are you-? Never mind that, I asked how far is the school?"

"Oh, only a half-hour from here. It takes a bit of finding, though, especially in a city like this." He nodded, the smoke cloud from his cigarette bobbing up and down. He adjusted the mirror. "You alright back there?"

"I guess so-" Wilhelm stopped.

"Anything wrong?"

"What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?!" The bastard didn't have any, replaced by shining, gaping holes. Was it a trick of the light- then the driver turned around.

"You're one of _those _kind of people, aren't you? Well, you'll get used to it, eventually. Being raised by humans does get people's racial prejudice up, but that tends to fade away."

"What do you mean? Human? Oh shit, I know where this is going, I'm genre savvy enough to know whenever a person refers to a human as a human, they're obviously aliens or some shit- or they're trolling me. Get real, bro. What's wrong with your eyes?

The driver frowned. He turned back and started the car, skillfully maneuvering the taxi out of the tight parallel park, then headed down the street and into the city. "You'll find out on your own, I expect."

Wilhelm shrugged. "Fine. You like the suspense, I bet." He turned to Japanese. "Can I talk to you for a while? I need to exercise my Japanese, and understand all these dialects. I mean, I could barely understand half a word!"

"Sure. Talk to me."

"I'll ask a few questions to get them out of the way. What's the Academy like? The brochure said it had 'suitable grounds,' which is the vaguest thing I've ever read. Can you enlighten me?"

"There you go again, being all formal. If you want anyone to understand you, you have to understand that sometimes you have to accommodate for other people's accents and dialects. Otherwise, all you'll hear is blah, blah, blah. Basic language math here. That's the only lesson you need." He took a big whiff of his tobacco, blowing the smoke out the window. "And, if you really need to know-" He paused, and turned.

"The Academy is a horrifying school!" He paused for effect. Wilhelm wasn't affected. "Or, that's what I say to every student. I didn't think you'd really be scared by it. The eye thing creeps most kids out. Hell, it creeped the headmaster so much he tried it for himself! Nah, I believe you'll do just fine at the Academy."

"Sure, sir." So this was all an act. Wilhelm should've expected that from the start. The guy was just playing a joke, and the eye thing was just a trick, probably backlight contacts or something. "It's only one year, man," he said under his breath in his own secret language. "Then you're out of here for good."

The taxi went down the streets of Tokyo, and stars started to rise from the sun's opposite horizon.


	4. 3: A Few Months Before, Pt1: Love Talks

3

Yokosuka, Japan

A few months ago

Kurumu smiled her false smile, struggling in her suffering to stop the sorrowful tears that threatened to flow. Her heart was throbbing, tearing itself apart from within the void that was her soul, the void that gushed bloody tears. The agony of holding them back was almost as hard as seeming happy- almost.

She knew she should be ashamed for not feeling proud for her friend, who had accomplished in a few seconds what Kurumu couldn't in two years. But the pain of watching her love and her friend embrace and… kiss… her heart, as torn as it was, was ablaze, raging and hating, and her claws were near ready to _rip that bitch's throat out-_

_ No, no, don't think about it… she's my friend, my friend; I should be proud, proud… _Her mind was torn between the two feelings of love and friendship and sheer loathing. What could she do, when one side of her wanted to rip her friend in two, the other wished to remain complacent, and both were so miserable she wished she could herself here and now?

_How could Tsukune be so cruel? _There was her love, smiling his ignorant grin, laughing as if he was some hero- but had he saved her and Mizore? Where was he? Off and fucking that slut while Kurumu and Mizore fought that psycho lesbian, the one he now called "friend?" While Kurumu and Mizore were butchered and mutilated by the yandere bitch? Where was he? What kind of savior was he? Who cared about some pitiful humans when they could teleported away by Mikogami's powers? Why, in the name of all hell and the Lord of Demons himself, did he fall for that fucking _stupid, lowbrow, uncaring_-

_Stop, stop, stop! _She screamed to that blasphemous side of her mind. _I hate you, I hate you, STOP IT!_

**AND WHO ARE YOU SAYING THAT TO? HER?**

Kurumu had to wrap her hands around her throat to stop herself from screaming.

**YOU KNOW HOW SHE'S TREATED YOU: WITH AS LITTLE RESPECT FOR YOUR FEELINGS AS POSSIBLE.**

Kurumu was horrified at hearing her own thoughts blatantly disrespect her friend.

**SHE CONSIDERS YOU A NUISANCE. SHE UTTERLY DESPISES YOUR EFFORTS TO WOO THE BOY, AND CONSTANTLY FOILS ANY OF YOUR ATTEMPTS TO GET CLOSE TO HIM. WHAT KIND OF FRIEND DOES THAT? YOU PLAYED FAIR, YOU LET HER DO AS SHE WISHED, AND WHAT DOES SHE GIVE YOU IN RETURN FOR THE ABSTINENCE OF YOUR VERY NATURE? **

She looked up from her personal pool of misery. The bitch was holding hands, _holding hands_ with her love. KURUMU'S LOVE. As if he was hers and hers alone. As if she had won!

**WHY LET THE PAIN GO ON? YOU HAVE THE POWER, THE INTENT, THE WILL TO END IT- TO END HER!**

_But she's my friend! I love her like a sister! A sister! _

** YET YOU DOUBT WHETHER SHE FEELS THE SAME. WELL, SHE DOESN'T. LOOK, LOOK AT HER HOLDING HANDS WITH THE BOY YOU LOVE, CARESSING HIM LIKE HOW A WHORE FONDLE'S HER NIGHT'S PAY.**

Kurumu's fists clenched, a vein popped out of her temple. _She doesn't deserve him. She never worked so hard, day after day. She didn't have to spend every waking moment to attract his attention. She doesn't cry at night when he gets hurt. He defends her, we defend him. What has she done for him?_

**TURN HIM INTO A MONSTER.**

_He isn't a monster, he's- God, I don't know what he is anymore! Fouhai did that… needle thing to him, I wonder if… if he's still my Tsukune…_

** YOUR TSUKUNE? YOU KNOW THE TRUTH, HE HAS NEVER BEEN YOURS. HE AVOIDS YOU LIKE THE PLAGUE. HE BARELY CONSIDERS YOU A FRIEND. IF HE DID, HE WOULD SEE PAST THAT PAPER-THIN SMILE OF YOURS AND COMFORT YOU.**

Kurumu grimaced. She was right- that vile, conniving side of her mind was right. Too right. She didn't want to be reminded of the cold and bitter truth. It was the demon she was that spoke to her, the demon that spoke its brutally honest speech; it was the voice that rose from the depths of her psyche to remind her again and again how futile everything was, and to urge her to end that futility. By… releasing that demon.

**IT MAKES SENSE TO. WHY NOT?**

_Yes, why not_?

**YOU GET THE IDEA. SEE, THE BITCH ****_STOLE_**** HIM FROM YOU, OR THAT'S WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO THINK. BUT YOU KNOW BETTER. HE WAS NEVER "YOURS." HE NEVER CAN BE… UNLESS YOU DO WHAT NO ONE ELSE CAN. MAKE HIM YOUR ONE AND ONLY. YOUR MOON AND STARS. ONE LITTLE SLICE OF THE THROAT, AND YOUR DREAMS, YOUR LIFE GOAL… YOU AND I CAN FILL IN THE DETAILS.**

_I DON'T WANT TO KILL HER!_

**KEEP ON LYING TO YOURSELF. I WONDER… HOW MUCH CAN YOU TAKE? HOW LONG CAN YOU LAST AS YOU DECAY IN AGONY GAZING FROM AFAR THEIR LOVE? I HATE IT AS MUCH AS YOU DO, BECAUSE I AM YOU. I FEEL YOUR AGONY, TENFOLD, SINCE YOU HEAP IT ON ME TO ALLEVIATE THE PAIN. I AM NO NARCOTIC YOU CAN TAKE TO LET IT ALL GO. DO YOU SERIOUSLY EXPECT THE PAIN TO FADE AWAY?**

The tears burgeoned from the edges of her eye, this time with time with more confidence and intent than a North Korean dictator. She touched her eyes, taking the tips of her fingers away to half-expect blood.

**DON'T CRY NOW. CRY ALONE, IN THE DARK, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO. WEEP, AND NURTURE YOUR HATE WITH BITTER TEARS AND GUILTY BLOOD. WEEP, AND IT WILL TAKE ROOT IN YOUR SOUL; NURTURE IT, AND YOUR HATE WILL MAKE YOUR LOVE TAKE FRUIT. USE IT, AND YOUR HATE WILL MAKE HER TREMBLE IN FEAR, LIKE YOU DID, AS YOU LAY ON THAT COLD, UNFORGIVING FLOOR, BLEEDING AND BREATHING THE ONLY BREATHS YOU COULD TAKE.**

_I do NOT hate her!_

_**LIAR! YOU TERRIBLE, INSUFFERABLE LIAR! **_**YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN HER; THAT INNER ONE, AT LEAST, ALL POMPOUS AND SECRET-HOARDING. THE OUTER ONE'S TOO STUPID TO LIE.**

BE QUIET!

**_NO! THIS IS YOUR SOUL SPEAKING, YOUR SOUL THAT IS TEARING ITSELF APART, AND MORE BLOOD WILL SPILL WITH EACH SECOND OF INACTION! YOU WILL DROWN IN DESPAIR IF NOTHING IS DONE TO END HER EXISTENCE!_**

_I WON'T KILL HER!_

The voice didn't respond. Even though its blaspheming tongue had been silenced, all that did was have Kurumu hate herself more. The emptiness remained, and her strength failed her. It was all she could do to stop those cruel tears.

She knew she should feel ashamed for not feeling proud for her friends. She knew that this sputtering fire that sustained her was slowly going out, while the ever-present darkness of the void crept in, and spoke to her. That voice of the void, it was familiar. When she had first heard it, when she had lost hope lying on the floor, struck down by the sister, its poignant familiarity scared her more than its presence**:**

** STAND UP… AND KILL.**

The voice was hers.

She didn't cry. One tear now could kill her.

She would smile, for now, and laugh, as those two had their happy ending. She would put on another mask, as always. She would go back to that school, and pretend to go after Tsukune as whole-heartedly as she did a long time ago, when she was still so blissfully ignorant.

And she would despair forever at knowing he would never love her.

**I TOLD YOU SO.**


	5. 4: AFMB Part 2: Cold Again

4

The streets were ice-cold. The metal railings were freezing, and breath froze in mid-air. Unnatural icicles hung from eaves and awnings and roofs, the ice twisted in horrible shapes of the uncanny likeness of faces in the agony of those lowest bowels of hell, frozen in the black ice of Cocytus along with a taunting and mocking Lucifer himself. A sinister and glittering fog hung low.

Icy claws spread the emulation of the bitterest nights of the most wicked and lengthy winters, screeching like a human against the icy asphalt. Jagged frost covered windows with the grip of frozen talons, cracks forming on their surfaces in such multitudes they threatened to shatter. Faces formed in those cracks: images of the same boy, over and over, smiling a soft smile, a warm smile, a cruel, leering grin. Those with that awful expression did shatter, like a broken memory.

The yuki-onna sang her song. It was haunting, echoing infinitely in the alleys and streets, the notes jumping up and down in a discordant yet melodic tune, a tune that spoke of loss, of rejection, of hate. While love brought it to the tongue, the lyrics, sung in the wintry tongue of her kind, spoke little of love, only the lack of it. The beat, hollow like a drum, were the snow-girl's lagging footsteps. The instruments, cold and harsh, were played by the dragging of her ice claws against the frigid streets.

Birds that soared above settled on the rubble of destroyed skyscrapers that remained untouched by the cold, silently listening to that beautiful, eerie, destitute, awful music. None dared make a sound, lest they disturb the delicate peace and grieving of the song.

Teardrops that froze as soon as they left the eye fell and broke against an uncaring ground. The futility of the act didn't stop the flow, or the song. The snow-girl could choke on her sadness, but the burning tears would freeze and fall, and the music would continue, uninterrupted by any doubts, and new words to express the poor girl's sorrow leapt forth from her heavy heart.

Statues of the boy emerged from the ice to dance with her, begging like she begged for love. She took one offer, from the most complete among the statues. She and him twirled a lonely dance on the ice, their world spinning around them into a blur, so that it didn't matter anymore. Her steps were unsure, and her feet kept slipping- but he guided her, and they became one.

This simple act, of singing and dancing alone, forever, with him, this would satisfy her. To see the love shine in his eyes for all eternity.

But his hands were cold, and hard. These weren't the hands that held her, that made her feel warmth for the first time.

The statues dissolved into mist. She was alone. By herself. Like always.


	6. 5: AFMB Pt3: What is this Cloak but Lies

Tsukune hugged Moka, and felt like he could never let go. Her hair, her skin, her scent, all of her, he wished to envelop forever. He had lost one Moka… but he loved this one just as much. All the memories, all the smiles… it was still her. _Her_ love had given him the strength to control the monster within. He could still imagine and feel it struggling, growling foul curses, gnawing and beating against its cage, primed to burst out and feed on the flesh of those he cared about, and the blood of humanity.

"Tsukune," Moka whispered into his ear. "I'm so sorry I caused you all this pain. Had I not been so weak, had I not defended you all this time, you might still be whole; we might still be at school, enjoying our lives. We might have made a better world, where youkai and humans could live together… but it seems, because of _him_, they hate us all the more…"

"Moka, everything that has happened, if what we heard was true, it was inevitable. And besides, the humans hate Alucard; he caused all this. He killed the people of this city today, murdered innocents because of some badly placed blame. To him, all of humanity was a scapegoat for an unknown injustice from oh so long ago. It's him the humans despise, and if they blame us for his wrongdoing, they're just as bad as him." Reluctant as he was, he released himself from that sweet, sweet, embrace. Moka seemed just as hesitant as and more foregoing than he was, almost back to hugging him before the boy could get a firm grip on her shoulders. "Look at me, Moka-san. I love you. You were the one who gave me the strength to persevere in this crazy-ass world of the youkai. You gave me the power to do what's right, to save you, and to stop Alucard from destroying us all. No matter how much pain I had to go through, _it was worth it_.

"Tsukune!" Moka flew at him to embrace him once again, and with nothing left to say, Tsukune could only oblige to give back. _Yes, it is still her._

Yukari, somewhere off to the side, laughed her witchy cackle at the sight of them, clapping her hands with utmost happiness. "I love it when true love saves the day! Whether its young or old, straight or gay. I'm just moved to tears to see the lovers struggles to be resolved and see them finally united in love!" She sighed thoughtfully. "I guess a loli like me never had a chance. I suppose I'll find another threesome to join in, or I'll settle down with a lovely big-breasted girl, magically change my gender, and have a few kids with her. Then again, is this threesome still open?"

Tsukune glared at her. The witch didn't notice, but Moka saw the displeasure in his eyes. "No thanks, Yukari-chan," she said, patting Tsukune's back to calm him down, "Could you leave us alone for a while? We need to talk about things."

"'Talk,' so that's what they call it these days." Yukari giggled. "Don't worry, I'll snuggle between you guys one of these days." She brought out her wand. "I'm off to heal and mind-wipe some soldiers, if they aren't going to act too Puritan on me. Love you guys!" She skipped away, sparks flying from the tip of her magical instrument.

Tsukune felt the burn of disappointment. Try as he might, he really did hate it when other people interrupt his time with Moka. Sometimes, a nasty voice in the back of his mind told him to lash out at those who did... but his better judgement preceded him.

Moka chuckled that adorable chuckle of hers, and that was enough to bring him out of his gloom and bring a blush to his cheeks. "It's good to have such accepting friends that love us enough to respect this space here, between us."

"They should've already gotten the message, so, yeah." Perhaps Moka heard the inflection in his voice, or saw a sparkle in Tsukune's eyes that looked wrong, but her smile wavered for a moment, a movement so quick Tsukune didn't catch it. He looked into her eyes. "It's just... I'm so happy with you here in my arms, Moka. I don't want _them_ to disturb that."

Moka was silent. It was awkward now. Tsukune had thought hugging her could allow them to talk about their love for one another- but maybe it didn't work that way.

They ended the embrace. Moka smiled, the corners of her mouth a bit lower than what Tsukune was used to. "Tsukune, I'm going to help these people."

Tsukune looked at his wounds, bandaged yet still oozing discomfortingly black-and-red blood, and aching on their ragged edges. Several of the bones in his right hand were mangled under a tight splint. He had a monster headache (the pun of which was partially intended), and a bruise the size of his fist was forming on his crown. "You know what, I think I'll stay here. A hug's about all I can do right now."

Moka nodded. "No one can ask you more than what you've already done. Get some rest. Come here." She kissed his forehead. "Don't get kidnapped by some evil organization while I'm gone, okay?" They laughed together.

Tsukune found a bench to sit on, the only one left standing in a lonely, abandoned, decrepit and destroyed park. The medics had finished their work on him. Both the human ones and the youkai ones agreed that he shouldn't stress himself, or do any strenuous "exercise," lest he reopen all of his wounds, again break his bones, and wholly weaken his body.

It was calm here. No soldiers searched for the wounded or dead under the rubble, no youkai raced to erase and replace the humans' memories of Alucard. No birds sang in the trees. No children and laughed and played with their parents. No cars honked in a traffic bustle in the distance.

It was beyond calm. It was empty. Tsukune kicked away a lone piece of rock. It flew quite the distance…

He looked at his broken fist from between the two splints. It barely looked like a fist any more, more like a mush of bloodied skin. The medics said it would take time to heal, though the looks they gave him told him it would be a pretty long time. He _had_ broken it against Alucard's immensely thick armor; he had felt his bones crunching as he put all of his force into piercing a substance harder than any metal. And he had kept punching with that hand, ignoring the fact that he couldn't unclench it anymore, that it was really, really painful. And that was when he had power; now, it throbbed and pulsated with the pounding of his blood, even with the pain meds the medics had given him.

"But we won," he whispered to the air. He could barely believe it, still. The sheer scale of the act bewildered his insignificant human mind. _He _had destroyed Alucard, _he_ had defeated Fairy Tale, _he_ had gotten the girl. _He_ had saved the world! He, Tsukune Aono, an average, stupid high school student, _had saved the entire frikkin' world_. Any movie could revel in the glory of saving the world, and in the process make it seem so easy. But the actual feeling of having done so… it was exhilarating, it made him want to jump up and slam a fist to the ground, and create an awesome shockwave like Superman. His body ached at the thought. He couldn't do that, but he could laugh triumphantly and yell, "I SAVED THE WORLD!"

"Don't get a swollen head, boy."

The voice scared Tsukune out of his seat faster than he thought he could in his condition. Sitting on the bench next to where he was the white-robed Headmaster. Chained around his arms and legs were Holy Locks, the locks shaped more like heavy-duty padlocks than the tiny key-chain type that Tsukune had once worn before it broke and didn't need it any longer. Beneath the exorcist's hood, instead of the glowing eyes he usually sported, his eyes were red, reptilian eyes, glaring with a growing impatience and distaste.

"Headmaster- wha- I thought you were dead!" Tsukune could hardly believe it- he had seen the Headmaster die right in front of him! How-

"Dead? Where did you get that notion from?" The Headmaster stared at him as if he was ridiculous. "I am alive as you can well see- though I'd think that you'd have realized by now that I was."

"So- you're not a ghost? An apparition to haunt me or something like that?"

"I'm an exorcist, boy. I _destroy _ghosts. Haunt you, maybe, but that's just me. And second, I'm a kishin. I can't 'die' in the classical sense; I can go to hell, sure, but my soul would be intact enough to return, unlike… human souls. However, I did not come on my own accord. God saw my death- and sent me packing. Along with Fouhai, since I definitely need a 'friend.' Fouhai was more thrilled than I, since he had been planning from the start to supply enough energy for Akasha and Alucard to die, and then scram to his children and grandchildren, but he had let too much of his power slip, and he died. God wasn't done with us apparently, and here we are, and here I am. For the sake of secrecy, don't tell your other friends- except Ruby- that I am alive. Tell Ruby, but only in secret. I am to be going back to the Academy, as an administrator, but they shall not see me. This is of utmost importance. Do you understand, boy?"

"But, sir, why-"

"Do you _understand?_"

Tsukune hesitated; it was already strange enough that the Headmaster was back from the "dead," now he wanted Tsukune to only tell Ruby? What did he want, really?

He nodded slowly. "But why come to me?"

"Because you're useful, at the moment. And, as a good headmaster does, I came to you specifically to congratulate you on your efforts, of course- but it seems you've already done that for me." A twinge of something laced his voice, beyond the irritation he showed in his eyes. He mumbled, "I also thought you of all people might have felt… never mind."

The man's voice sounded… restricted, as if he was choking his words back. "Is there anything wrong, sir? I mean, beyond the death thing and all."

"Oh, so you do care. That's just wonderful. I was beginning to believe your kindness only extended to women." He sneered, and his smile reflected razor-sharp teeth. "Boy, I just saw one of my greatest of comrades _die _right in front of me._ Boy_, I just spent all my energy protecting you and the others, giving you all the time in the world to destroy Alucard and his "children". The pentacle I used to prevent the ghoul's power from swallowing you is a burnt hole in the ground a half a kilometer wide and three meters deep. The dark powers I evoked to save your ungrateful ass were more than this earth can bear; the taint will last for long past your lifetime's end. I had to have other exorcists bind my demonic nature so as to not encourage the spread of my own taint, and yet the taint spreads. Both remain contained, yet their presence here has made me lose my favor with _God_, and here I remain, stripped of my power because my idiotic conscience told me to protect one trump card where it could've been easier to let it destroy itself."

Tsukune stared at him. "What do you mean? I thought-"

"You thought, boy, and perhaps that's one of your major sins. You only think about yourself, and you don't even care about yourself. Your body and soul were slowly disintegrating as you fought. It was not "love" as you might think that saved you; love is nothing more than an emotion in the back of your brain that drives you onward, can give you strength, but it does not give you _power_. _I _saved you, and the world is better off for it not because you lived, but if you died the ghoul would have risen from your ashes, a hollow shell with a vampire's strength and hunger tenfold. Alucard would've been dealt with, yes, but with our forces and human forces depleted no one would have been able to stop it from devouring hundreds, maybe thousands of humans before I regained my strength and obliterated it. But after it's all done and done, I would still have my powers, those girls that follow you around would stop their bickering, and for the price you paid your death would mean nothing in the long run."

Tsukune fell to his knees. "What? You mean- you would've just let that happen? But- my friends- my parents-"

"We'd just tell your parents that on a trip to Yokosuka, you had been one of the lost. A simple solution with minimum backlash. And your friends wouldn't mind, really. A few years from now, they'd forget about you, or think of you as that one guy they liked back in high school. Right now they would think that you paid the price freely, I could do nothing to stop that, and there would be no hard feelings." He paused. Tsukune looked up at him, the beginning of tears forming at the edges of his eyes. The Headmaster shook his head. "But I did stop it," he growled.

Tsukune wiped away the tears, his muscles popping from the strain of remaining stoic. "I'm sorry for these troubles I've caused you."

Mikogami glared at him, his reptilian eye-slits expanding and contracting. He snorted. "Don't give me your false humility, boy. If you had noticed my trouble, if you had said sorry long before this conversation, I may have believed you. But be it as it may you would only be pitying me either way, not truly sorry for what you've done.

"Boy, being an exorcist is not simply a talent I possess; it is a gift of grace from God. And God being God, he can as easily take it away. I betrayed his trust by using dark magic that I had forsworn long ago, and using it for a very selfish reason."

"What you did for us wasn't selfish. It wasn't selfish to save all those people! If 'God' took away your powers, he has absolutely no idea what he is doing!"

"Spare God the blasphemy, boy, he already receives enough of it from seven billion humans every day. What I did today _was_ selfish, boy, but it is a selfishness even you should know by now."

"I'm not selfish!" The human wiped a tear away. "I try not to be, anyway. I mean, I don't think much of my own needs or wants."

"That only proves one of my earlier points. Everyone is selfish, Aono. The poorest of the poor lust, desire revenge, and possess an inherent greed accompanied by a burning envy of those who have more than them. Those poorest murder and rape more than any other class, and many steal without hesitation. And yet even the rich can be just as selfish despite having everything in the world, as you saw with the demon and his she-demon, trying to avenge injustices whose perpetrators have long been dead.

"Boy do you honestly think I came here to support your mission? Do you honestly believe I am some holy and chaste monk brimming with godliness and good intentions? I am a DEMON!" he spat, fire bursting from his nostrils and his mouth. Under the hood red eyes glowed like burning coals. "I am a demon, boy. I have the faults of a human and the loathing of Satan, unless I am shackled by God. Even the Devil himself trembles at his name, but does that change our baser natures? While you may believe I am here only as a convenience for you, my history is one of blood! My conversion to the Light was not some hole in time you can ignore! I used to slaughter humans and throw their bodies into hell, whole! For fun! I delighted in their squirming bodies and tormented screams.

"Boy, I was a monster in the sheerest sense of the word. Many youkai history books paint me clad in this holy man's robe, fighting along Akasha and Fouhai with legion's of my "angels" in the "final" battle against Alucard. They don't mention my demonic past. They don't mention I was a _kishin_ while I ripped apart Alucard's extremities and feasted on his flesh! They don't mention the true nature of his seal, that I had chained him down with countless demons that haunt the earth to this day! I was trying to kill Alucard only because the vampire woman told me so. She threatened to end my hedonistic existence in the most painful by throwing _me_ into the deepest pit of hell, unless  
I fought on the side of good.

"We sealed Alucard, at a price, a price I set myself in my blind rage. I used a piece of Akasha's soul to seal the binding, so whenever I wished I could use all of her as a bargaining chip for whatever I desired. From her family, I would get gold and whores. From the humans, they'd give me anything they want to save their asses. But something unexpected happened."

Silence. Tsukune clambered onto the bench and to Mikogami's side so as to hear every single word. His heart couldn't stop throbbing, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose, in the anticipation that whatever came out of the exorcist's mouth now, they would be the most important words he'd ever hear. It was the worst feeling- they weren't doom bringing words, he knew. But they would be utterly terrifying.

"Boy," the exorcist's voice cracked, "I didn't involve myself in this because I wished to save you or the humans. I didn't come here because I didn't want Alucard to destroy us all. I didn't create the rosary Akashiya wears because I wanted, or even particularly needed to seal hers and Alucard's powers, to link her to her mother, or even to protect _her_. I didn't start all of this because I was good.

"I came here to kill Alucard for a soul. I made the rosary for a face. I came here to save the woman I loved."

He turned his face, and Tsukune's heart stopped. Gone were the eyes full of hate. His face, covered in scars and new wounds, possessed the brown eyes of a human. "Boy, we have more in common than you might think, or like. We crashed into something beautiful, something terrible. We gained much, we lost much. We were both selfish. We even fought Alucard." He chuckled, a sound that barely resembled the hollow and cruel cackle Tsukune thought he knew. "I suppose, in the end, I saved Akasha, though in a way I wish that wasn't. And now she's gone. Again. And this time, even God can't get her soul back from where she's gone. But I suppose…" the resentment crept back into his voice, and his eyes flared a demonic red once more, "not everyone gets a happy ending."

And he was gone.


	7. 6: The Academy Approaches

6

Now

"-and yet this movie bombed despite it being this big-ass budgeted, super-badass three-hour flick of robot versus giant monster action!"

"No way."

"It did! Everyone who did watch it loved it, it got rave reviews, but no one wanted to rake up a bit of bravery and a couple of bucks to try something new."

"Kid, I'm still wondering why anyone watches Japanese movies anymore. Have you seen the crap these people produce? They stink worse than a roadkill skunk. Terrible acting, loose and confusing plots with more holes than Swiss cheese in an effort to emulate anime storylines. Every time I'm forced to watch even the commercials in theaters I cringe in pain, and I leave with this bitter taste in my mouth."

"Yeah, I saw one of those. Worst piece of shit I've ever seen in my life. They fill them with lame spectacle and fluff like I've never seen before. And then I saw Godzilla. It was stop-motion, and it was thirty thousand times better than these movies! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that Japanese culture has reached a stagnation point where it can do nothing but produce anime. Sure, anime can be a deft and interesting art form and a good source of entertainment, if done right, but very often their sacrifice creativity and originality for marketability. They barf up sickeningly cute characters and annoying voice actors and call it good."

"I agree, kid. America is getting better at this, I know that, but they've still got so much bad stuff under their belts as well… makes me wonder why anyone goes to the cinema these days." The driver tapped the ashy tip of his cigarette into the ashtray. "Buckle up, kid. Were close, but the rest of the way is a tad bumpy."

The sun was already halfway down where it would rest under the horizon. Stars rose from the city, and the million of lights that were Tokyo lit one by one, outshining the stars. The sounds of the city were distant, now, though one could still hear the occasional honk of a horn stuck in the dense traffic. The driver had taken the route around the city, so that the suburban jungle slowly became thicker and thicker as time passed, so that now they lay in the heart of suburbia. It had taken Wilhelm a while to actually recognize the place as such. Instead of the low-topped brown adobe houses with bland, unkempt xeriscaping or the occasional weed-lawn of back home that straddled the sides of streets, these Japanese houses resembled apartments so much Wilhelm didn't even realize they weren't in the city. They were concrete two-stories tall buildings and not much else, unless a brave, hardworking soul had managed to put up flower pots or a few raised beds.

"Kid," the driver said, a touch of amusement wreaking strange havoc on his monotone, "I'm glad we didn't drive through the city, else I'd have a pool of your drool soaked into the carpet to clean up."

"Shut up! I'm interested, that's all."

"Mhm, of course you are. Kid, your eyes are so damn wide I bet anybody that happens to look out their window right now would see these two shining orbs in the dark and immediately say, 'Eh, just another American.'"

Wilhelm had to laugh at that.

They combed through several neighborhoods at a surprisingly good pace. The sun was almost set now, and this early, though it would have to be expected in the wintertime. The thirty minutes the driver had proposed in the beginning had only just passed, which Wilhelm realized had passed extremely fast. Why would it do that? Usually, for him, time seemed to drag on…

The taxi turned off into a construction site. Wooden beams formed the bare-bone frame of another house, and not much else had been put into the building. A few porta-potties stuck out like 2001's lost monoliths here and there, alongside beams yet to be placed. Tire tracks of heavy trucks showed that the workers had only recently left.

Wilhelm looked around. An overpass behind the brick wall that surrounded this whole neighborhood still sung with the rush of cars. He lit another cigarette. He also noted a tunnel going under the overpass right next to the unfinished house.

"That's the last turn, kid," the driver said as he noticed from the dash mirror Wilhelm eyeing the tunnel. The glowing-eyes thing that the driver seemed so stubbornly insistent on keeping still creeped Wilhelm out, so he kept his gaze focused outside the window. "Beyond it is our destination, the Academy. You buckled up? Because that tunnel's quite new, and the ground's uneven because the workers haven't laid down any asphalt yet. In fact, it's downright crazy."

"So the Academy is in the middle of suburbia? No wonder it was cheap."

"I never said it was. I said it was beyond the tunnel." He turned on the road into it.

Wilhelm gave him a look for answers, but none came. He sighed in slight exasperation, but he attempted to buckle up. The keyword being "attempted." He hadn't actually been in a car before, and this buckle thing he had only heard of. He grabbed at the strap at his shoulder, vaguely comprehending the concept of the belt and clip, but before he could understand it was too late; the car slipped into the tunnel, and immediately they were engulfed in darkness, as if the light from the outside had been swallowed, or rather _pushed_ out, the light from the entrance still there but not entering.

Wilhelm stuck his head out the window. Ahead of the taxi, the darkness went on and met at a pinpoint of light. When he moved his lips to get a better grip on his cigarette, he accidentally let it slip. The driver saw. "Grab it, kid, grab it before it-" but it had already flown away.

"Damn, that was my last one!" He murmured, slinking back down his seat. He looked at the insides of his empty box. "It's funny how one realizes that once you finish these, you just spent three-fifty of thirty minutes of your life down the toilet." He prepared his arm to also throw it out the window, but the driver caught his arm by twisting his through the miniscule crack between his chair and the car wall.

"Kid, don't do it. Don't make me explain."

"Okay, I got it, you don't need to put your panties in a bunch." He put the box back in his pocket, and the driver released him.

A minute passed before the driver's warning came true- though bumpy wasn't the best word for it. _Dangerously rigorous _perhaps better defined it, though by the time Wilhelm hit his head against the ceiling, it was the forming bruise, not imagery, that was on his mind.

The pinpoint of light grew quickly, but the tunnel grew no brighter with it. The terrain underneath the car did change, and the ground turned Wilhelm into a ragdoll as it tossed him around the backseat. "You said it was asphalt, not stalagmites!" He yelled over the cacophony of bangs and bumps.

"I did warn you!" the driver said back, keeping the car in a straight line despite the turbulence. "I forgot to mention the fact that this is really shittily paved!"

The taxi nearly flipped onto its back as it tripped over the last bump of the tunnel. The leap threw the car what felt like three feet in the air before it crashed onto the ground with a resounding and final clanging of internal parts and the people within the cabin.

"Phew. We made it through that one. Kid, we're here. Take your tiny sack and haul yourself out."

"Ha ha. I think I'd rather stay under this pillow for now and refrain from movement. I've got a bruise on my head that needs some TLC before I do anything more. My high wore off, too, and we both know the repercussions of that. Go on without me!"

"Nice. I'm not going to drive you up there. The car's broke. You heard that, right? So get out before I make you."

"Ooh, I'm so scared. I might as well run before the real pain comes." The pillow really was comforting, and against Wilhelm's bruises it was narcotic. But life called to him in a monotone. While not the most motivating of life's many voices, it sounded pissed enough as it slammed the car door and grumbled curses and murmured dark things about Japanese tires that Wilhelm could only grin and respond.

The driver searched in the open trunk, unearthing a horde of assorted rubbish. "People think they can get away with stashing their crap in my taxi," he explained, "and since most of my passengers are kids, you wouldn't believe the stuff that leaks from their suitcases or happens to 'fall' from their hands." Wilhelm could believe it; he saw more than one pair of panties and a bra, and of course thousands of brightly colored candy wrappers.

The driver saw him still standing there. "What are you doing? Go up the road, and the school is after the first path you find."

"And what do I do then? Hang around until a security guard tackles me?"

"I would think they went over this with you on the phone. You go to the Headmaster in Administration, didn't you know this?"

"Nope. They did talk with my Social Services director, but I don't think he likes me very much for unknown reasons. He didn't tell me much, besides a too-hearty goodbye as he kicked me out of the orphanage."

"Well now you know. It was great talking to you, Schugen, much more interesting than the other kids I drag here. But you have priorities, and I have mine." He took out a spare tire from beneath the mounds of trash, and gathered into the crook of his free arm some tools as well. He and Wilhelm glanced at the mangled back tire. "I am never taking that way again." He said finally.

Wilhelm put out a hand after the driver had placed his equipment down and closed the trunk. "Can I have your name, man? I might need to call you if the schoolwork drives me insane."

"You will need that ride, I guarantee, one way or another. The Academy sends kids off on all sorts of crazy things, even college kids like you." He took Wilhelm's hand and shook it. "It's Tavares Perez." He released the other's hand.

"Cool." So the driver was Hispanic. He didn't look it at all, or sound it.

Then Wilhelm realized- "When did we- how the fuck are we besides the ocean?" Beyond the cliff that hugged the street they now stood on was, as the student said, the ocean. Blackish-red under the dusky sun, the waves were roaring and crashing violently against the cliffside as if a particularly bad storm was brewing, yet all day and even now, there was not a single cloud in the sky. (Then again, was the ocean always like this? Wilhelm had only the general impression of an ocean and how it worked. He lived in a desert, remember?) "Isn't Shinjuku, like, west? Away from the ocean?"

Perez seemed too busy cursing under his breath and fixing the tire to notice.

Wilhelm almost kicked him to get an answer, but thought otherwise. Instead, he tugged himself up the street, backpack and comfy pillow in tow, staring at the ocean all the while, utterly and profoundly confused.

* * *

There were a few explanations for the condition of the grounds. Either all these trees that comprised the forest along the path were dead, and the groundskeeper sucked or was nonexistent; or the groundskeeper was really good at raking leaves so that none remained on the forest floor, and just really sucked at weeding; or the fallen leaves had rotted quickly and the weeds were their successors, and he groundskeeper sucked or was nonexistent.

Whether the groundskeeper sucked or otherwise, the trees, an odd mix of mix of tangled and bent oaks, birch, a familiar cottonwood or two, and other trees that Wilhelm didn't know or really care about, stood bereft of all their leaves. They shared the floors that flanked the raised-dirt road with mobs of grossly green, petulant weeds. None of them were New Mexican, clearly, or of any planet Wilhelm knew of; some had weird, bulbish fruit hanging on their stems, or fleshy blossoms that, oddly enough, seemed to _smile_ at him with their bone-white fronds.

There were already people here, and there probably had been for a while now. A very fresh burrito stuck out of the end of an overflowing trash can that stood on the side of the path. Wilhelm picked up the rubbish that had spilled, then pushed all of it down so that it fit nicely. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, but the residue he wiped on the bark of a tree.

To any other person, it would be weird to see _him_ of all people clearing up litter. To him, it was natural to do so. He had slept on enough streets to fell sickened by the kinds of disgusting shit people leave behind. A little self-satisfaction beat ignoring the problem that lay everywhere.

Wilhelm was wearing a jacket, but here, he felt as if he didn't need it. It wasn't too cold, but it wasn't warm at all. It had been shivery in the city, -9 degrees Celsius according to one corner store the taxi had passed. But this was exactly room temperature, give or take a few degrees, without any wind to add a chill. The sensation was… unnerving, as if something was stifling the heat to this point.

He kept his jacket on.

* * *

The school was HUGE. Enormous. Wilhelm had seen that one high school in Rio Rancho while on a trip to a science fair (his teacher forced him to, okay?), the one with the fancy almost all-glass exterior that stretched a mile long. This school surpassed that by a large margin, perhaps two or even three times that. It barely passed for a school at all, more like an overly large mansion that stretched for as far as the eye could see in either direction, or at least until the view was obscured by encroaching trees.

The school was an oldish building, a good hundred years old by Wilhelm's estimate, judging by the quality of the bricks and the overgrowths of vines that adorned its surface. Strangely, the building appeared Victorian, like that manse from _Downton Abbey_ (he wasn't _into the show_, the show just happened to be on when nothing else was, and it was pretty interesting) instead of Japanese-style, which would be unusual if it was as old as Wilhelm thought it was. Beside the two main entrance doors, were the golden-emblazoned kanji of YOUKAI ACADEMY, the name which would mean the driver had driven him to the wrong place, or this was the _Mikogami _Academy and "Youkai" Academy was the old name and the sign hadn't been fixed. The term "youkai" rang a bell in Wilhelm's head, but he wasn't really familiar with it. He might've read it in a Japanese-to-English dictionary, but he doubted it. Must've been another headmaster, then, or some other self-important schmuck who happened to name the school after themselves.

A freezing wind blew from the path. Wilhelm squinted down the path, though in his mind he realized there was nothing there and he was only acting like a stupid horror movie heroine. It was only a breeze from the night sea. The door's windows, revealed light behind them, and hopefully it meant there was air conditioning. H went inside.

"And here I am, back in hell."

The decrepit exterior of the building hid this updated interior of polished floors with tiles arranged in tedious designs, those weird textured walls, and yellow fluorescent lighting, just like any other school in the world. It reminded Wilhelm a bit of Albuquerque High, though that place was a crapsack compared to anywhere else. If he saw a short, Hispanic janitor, he wouldn't be surprised at all. In fact, he would face-heel-turn himself out and move to a place without institutions like these. Maybe Mongolia; it was nice there, he supposed, though appallingly devoid of civilization besides a hut every thirty miles and a few reindeer.

The administration of this place had, indeed, taken the time to look down to note that the school was, what do you know, quite big, and viable to get confusing at times, so in the middle of the vast entry room was a mall-style map, garishly colored squares and all. It was five-sided, but each map on each face was the same, though labeled with thousands of tiny notes in a myriad of different languages. The front-facing map had all the basics: English, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Russian, French, Spanish, and German. The other maps had all sorts of crazy symbols and words. There were even labels in Dwarvish, the _Lord of the Rings_ kind, distinguished from Viking because Wilhelm could read the Dwarvish (nerdily enough), but the Viking was, well, Viking.

The school layout was straightforward, if chopped up into multitudes of classrooms that it consisted of. Two wings, left and right, had numbered squares on each edge to represent a classroom or the occasional janitor's closet, though there were many of those to keep up with the cleaning of a place on this scale. At the end of the left wing there was a concert hall that doubled for lectures, the end of the right had a cafeteria that extended to the outside. Behind the school was the college, a much smaller building, though still relatively large. Besides the school to its right were dorms, though they were only indicated, not displayed. The administration's office was on the second floor, a caution note said, and locations where stairs were were displayed as zigzags, the nearest being off to either side about fifty feet, as Wilhelm could see. With extreme prejudice, he chose the one to the right.

Looking up, the school had a second "floor," but the structure was more like a mall, with open tiers with bridges to cross spans over the pit that was the first floor. Looking on his own level, a few lights in the classrooms were on, though only a few, speaking of the date and the hour. While going down the hall, he just couldn't help himself from veering off to the side to peek.

The first one he saw, a teacher was napping. On her desk. Equipment thrown carelessly to the ground, she cuddled in a fetal position, her face blissful and content. He was so close to knocking on her door, but he stopped himself. The woman had these wicked-sharp fingernails, and Wilhelm preferred to keep his face intact.

The second room wasn't as bright as he thought. There was only one light on, the lamp on the teacher's desk. A single person sat in the far back, way in the dark that Wilhelm could only see a brief outline. The figure had their head cradled in their arms. They did nothing else, so Wilhelm moved on.

The last lit room, one just after the stairs, had a light in it, but there wasn't much point to it because of all the books that blocked it. The kanji on their spines read "Calculus Grade II," "Mirrors with Chemistry," "A Plus-Sized Analysis on Addition," and a host of other hellish titles that warned Wilhelm to turn right around and hurry up the stairs.

A second-floor map rested on the wall immediate the stairs, and much to Wilhelm's chagrin, the administration was in the left wing, above the concert hall. Fate has quite the sense of irony, it seems.

A few classrooms on this floor were lit as well, and like those on the bottom floor, their contents were uninteresting and unnecessary to inspect. A few teachers was all, and all were too entrenched in work to look up at the passing shadow.

It was a damned long way to the other side of school. His guess at three miles turned out to be true- and the hallway went on and on, a road of an off-white tile and badly lit hell that brought forth terrible recollections of "learning," leftist indoctrination, an long treks of trudging through crowds of short people (Which was similar to wading through a river that came up to his stomach, albeit much more chatty and annoying.)

He did reach the office, an effort that ate up thirty minutes of fast walking and a candy bar he had bought from a vending machine. The candy was one of those fail-brands that the Japanese had all over the place. The kanji on its wrapper had been so lumpy and childishly distorted it had been hard to translate: _Oni-chandesu! De-Ricious_ (Wilhelm couldn't help but translate it that way) _Choco-Crunch Turbo!_ or something thereabouts. It wasn't crunchy at all, rather gooey instead, and its off-chocolate flavor was somewhat disturbing, but it passed as food, which was all that mattered to his empty stomach.

Tossing the wrapper, a full-mouthed Wilhelm entered the office.


	8. 7: Suspicions of the Exorcist

7

The room wasn't as Wilhelm expected in a school like this, but he knew its type. There were three main office types, with subtypes and all the like, but three main ones: the Freud, a very comfortable room with big comfy couches, soft lights, and bookcases, meant to make the officer and officee feel familiar and calm; the Principal, a very uncomfortable and claustrophobic room with a big comfy swirly chair for the officer only, and miniscule kindergarten chairs for the officee. On the side would be a few bookcases, but these would be filled with thick tomes like _War and Peace_ alongside insidious volumes such as _Capital Crime and Capital Punishment _and that copy of _Twilight_ the officer's preteen daughter gave them. The whole effect is to make the officees small, weak, and inferior, unable to change their pitiable fates as the officer proclaims their self God so they may exact unholy and dogmatic judgment; and then there was the Dumbledore, otherwise known as the CEO, immensely large rooms, with vast bookcases, merely meant to display their awesome power.

The director's office had been an atheist principal's office-type: bland, self-serving, diminishing of the officee. This one was a full-blown CEO or a Super-villain Inner Sanctum: a cosmic, hollow dome structure, an office that could easily be fulfilled in less space, since there was only desk and several bookcases that flanked the furniture. The whole room was jet marble or a similar stone, more likely something lighter if this room was on the second floor.

Being a vast, stone room, even the tiniest of sounds echoed back and forth into a whispering cacophony that took several seconds to fade. Wilhelm's chewing, his sneakers hitting the floor,, and the scratching of (who he supposed was) the Headmaster's pen were exacerbated and fused into this endless symphony, splitting into tinier and tinier gossamer notes.

Still chewing (this candy bar was a tough bastard), Wilhelm sat down at the comfy chair in front of the desk, crossed his legs, sat back, and said, "I'm here."

The Headmaster wore this white cloak, the hood adorned with a black cross. Obviously, he was a Japanese Catholic priest or a pastor of some obscure Protestant sect, maybe even a Satanist. Then again, those could be his PJs. It was nighttime, so why not? Though they would pretty nice PJs, considering the cloak shimmered in a way only silk could.

The Headmaster did not look up, but, in Japanese, he spoke, in a monotone quite similar to that of Perez the driver, though with its own personal inflection, as voices go. "Wilhelm Schugen. I expected you to be later." He wrote one last sentence on his current form, flicked it away into a pile of other papers, then reached into a desk cabinet. He pulled out a thin file and opened it. "The average high school freshman tends to have a thicker file than this, Mr. Schugen, especially a straight-A student like you. A senior thesis, standardized test records, all excellent, but that's all we have in here. No IEP when a boy like you could have easily gone into the Gifted Program, no report cards from elementary school. Middle school's I have yet to collect, but I do doubt they'd be very impressive size-wise. Besides these you lack much of your history."

"In case you haven't noticed, I have much of a lack of parents to deal with that kind of stuff. Social Services weren't going to help me that much, either." Wilhelm didn't need to be reminded of this. Again. He didn't need to be reminded that no one cared about the circumstances that brought him to insignificance. He swallowed the candy bar as fast as he could; keeping it in his mouth severely distorted his Japanese. "If you look in my file, you'll also see that I'm a ward of the state, that my parents dumped me because they were too lazy to care. It's on all my papers. Hell, I wrote about it in my senior thesis."

"No way, it's not as if it's my responsibility to read it or anything." Wilhelm almost smiled; he decided he liked this guy. To be sure, he checked the plaque at the front of the desk, and this guy was indeed Tenmei Mikogami. Tenmei Mikogami closed the file, his face still angled downward, and brought to the floor a _very_ thick, one the size of several _War and Peaces_. Wilhelm heart and butt sank in his chair, the smiling shapeshifting quickly into a bizarre frown.

"I kept this handy because I've heard of your impertinence. You're quite famous for it. You're the one who flipped off Candidate Obama the day he visited Rio Rancho High School. You've got more 'referrals' than the stupidest thug, but you have never crossed the line, or have been found crossing it. Mouthing off to teachers, slandering fellow students, smoking on campus, amongst other offenses. I heard, however, from a little birdie that this file can make you shut up. It works."

Wilhelm cursed the director under his breath; it could only be that bastard director who lipped about it, because only that bastard and other select… professionals knew what that file was, its contents. He squirmed in his chair, the soft, cool leather transforming into a bed of hot knives pointing onto his backside.

"It's not the most enjoyable document, either… disturbing, actually. It's hard to see how you'd get anywhere in life dragging this behind you. Half the employers in the world would reject you, and the other half would hire you but shudder at the thought of keeping you around. This won't stop you from going to college, of course, but the _reason _these contents exist must make life difficult, but I can only guess at how much.

"When I was first reviewing you, I wondered, how does Wilhelm measure up to my standards? Going to our high school is one thing, for its not also s required part of life, but in our system, we put our students a step ahead from where they were before. We expect the best from our students, but we accept varying levels of intelligence and… temperament. Our college is different. It's a high standard school, else we wouldn't have sent for you. But this world needs mature people, not punks like you. Your intelligence is top notch, of course, but your attitude is… dismal. And, the fact that this file exists as such a large entity concerns me deeply.

"Since I've already used your money, and you're already here, I won't reject you. I want your promise that you won't stir up any trouble. This last year has been tumultuous for all of us at the Academy, due to unforeseen circumstances. If similar happens again, you don't want me to find out you're the cause of it."

Wilhelm could guess at what the Headmaster would do if he managed to piss the old man off. He grit his teeth, his eyes flicking from file, to man, file, to man. His left eye twitched.

What could cause so much trouble that he'd be worried that Wilhelm would do anything to cause it again? He struggled to recall if the newspaper mentioned any accidents involving the Academy. He had read the whole of Tokyo Times today, and he didn't think it talked about any school, much less this one. Unless of course, the events that transpired here had something to do with another catalytic incident…

"Does this have to do with what happened in Yokosuka?"

Mikogami didn't look up, but the miniscule flinch of his head made Wilhelm's guess bang-on. He continued, "What does something in Yokosuka have to do with a school in Shinjuku? They're quite a long way apart."

Another fidget, this one more noticeable. In a softer voice, the Headmaster replied, "An earthquake in Yokosuka killed several of our Japanese students' relatives. Grief has raised strife among the student body, and several fights arose. We don't want similar violence in our school this year."

Wilhelm shrugged, nodding as if he understood, but on the inside shook his head in disbelief. That had to be either the most paper-thin lie he had ever heard, or the lamest truth. Fights? _That_ qualifies as trouble? In Albuquerque, when a gunfight happened, it was Tuesday; when a fistfight occurred, it was 1 o'clock. They weren't so bloody bad that the Headmaster would have to be so grim about it.

"Mr. Schugen, I did not hear a promise."

Wilhelm hesitated. He didn't see how he could get caught up into anything involving Yokosuka or anybody involved with the province. He intended on avoiding pretty much everybody. "Sure, I promise I won't start anything. Emphasis on 'start.'"

Mikogami raised his hood a slight margin, so that wet glare of his eyes could be seen. He let the silence stretch for a moment, then said, "Good. College begins a few days later than when our high school does, because of certain delayed teaching preparations, so don't wake up and wind up in an empty building just because you saw some kids leaving. Your government has a surplus of your scholarship money, it appears, and being the great guy I am, I'll give you a small percentage of it each month as an allowance, seeing as you have no other source of income."

Wilhelm's eyes widened, and he perked up in his chair in the blink of an eye. "Holy mother of Jesus Christ, you mean th- sorry, sorry, that was English- you mean that? Seriously? I get money for being here?" He could hardly believe it, and his voice held a grain of salt as he wondered aloud, "Why?"

"It's the least I can do with you having your… predicaments. The government will only see it as being used for books, your medications, and other supplies, amongst a host of other things that can be used as excuses. We are strict here, Mr. Schugen, but we are not so strict that we would not provide for those who are less fortunate."

Wilhelm stared. He didn't understand. Why would they care? Why would they care whether he was poor and destitute? Why? "Uhhh… thank you, Headmaster…" That was all he could think to say.

"You are welcome, Mr. Schugen. Tomorrow, go to the nurse's office on the first basement floor to pick up your prescription. Tonight, go your dormitory, the one nearest the school. Tell your name to the girl at the front desk, and she will give you your ID card and your room number and key.

"Have a good school year."

As Wilhelm left the office, he pondered those last words. The man hadn't been sarcastic when he said it. He had been _honest_. A first from any authority he had had contact with.

Before he exited the door, he took a last a glance at the file, then shut the door behind him.

* * *

Ruby came out from behind the bookcases as soon as she heard the snap of door as it closed. _What a strange fellow,_ she thought. His behavior was… off, as if he was making his personality up as he went along. One second, he'd be surly and mean, the next he'd be withdrawn and quiet, then he'd be all cocky. _He's a very reactionary person, I guess one could say. _

She brought a book on monsters to Mikogami. He mumbled thanks, but didn't open it. "Why did you lie to him," she asked nonchalantly, "about the Alucard incident in Yokosuka? Everyone who isn't human knows what really happened."

Mikogami sighed. It wasn't his usual sigh, a worried puff of air. This was the sigh of an old man. "That's the problem, Ruby. He _believes_ he's human. Hell, he thought the Academy was in Shinjuku!"

"He is a youkai, right? I mean, Tsukune was a happy accident, but the school sent for this kid. They wouldn't send it to a human."

"No, I wouldn't. I sent for Schugen personally, though from what I've seen and heard he's only read the brochure… the letter I sent was much more informational." He wringed his hands back and forth, rubbing old scars and new ones. He sighed the strange sigh again.

Ruby touched his shoulder delicately. "You're exhausted, Tenmei-chan. I can make some tea for you. We have some Jasmine, or that fancy Pearl stuff-"

"I'm not exhausted!" Mikogami snapped. Ruby removed her hand. "It's the chains, Ruby, not me. I am weak now, and that makes it hard to move without trembling." He paused. "There's something else, too."

Ruby caught a glimpse of a twitch in the Headmaster's eyes, glancing toward the ponderous file, and she knew. "Does it have to do with Wir- Wiru- Wirihihuher-"

"Wilhelm."

"Right. Schugen-san." Ruby saw that Mikogami's hands were turning purple from clenching. She pursed her lips, then said, "I guess I'll make that tea, then."


	9. 8: An Icy Shadow

**Hey, people. This is pyracanth (obviously). I would just like to request you read all of what I have written so far (unless you're only reading for the updated chapter), and to review as you like (don't be a jerk about it though). This is a one hundred (more or less) chapter project, and I really love hearing people's reactions on my work, whether they're commending it or (constructively) criticizing it.**

**This is a Rosario + Vampire fic, and it takes place right after the manga's second season. Go in fandom blind as you wish, but this all may confuse you a bit if you do, because I make a lot of references to the source material that takes a bit of interpretation to understand. Please, read on, read it as a piece of literature instead of just a fan fiction, but you are warned of possible confusion.**

* * *

PROLOGUE

Bones crunched under heavy feet, and dead muscle burst with reserved blood.

The figure stalked the empty courtyard while death accompanied him, whispering wooing comments that fell on deaf ears. Why would he listen? For no simple demon would pierce his soul, not now, not ever.

The sky was broken, grey and dark and roiling, lightning flashing in the distance and enormous thunder rolling across the clouds. Perhaps it was earth weeping for the death of a god, defeated by a mere mortal. Well, maybe not just a_ mere _mortal, but a mortal nonetheless. And to say that the Fallen One was a god was also up for debate. If a man goes insane and no one notices, does that make him a god?

But no rain fell here. It purposely avoided the stench of death, strong in the bitter salt wind and swirling into mad laughter as it swept among the dead bodies that littered the place.

It was too late. Too late. It wasn't just that everyone here was dead, those who lived were long gone! This island, once floating by engines that had long since imploded, had crashed into Tokyo, or whatever city it was, the only city anyone knew that was in Japan was Tokyo, and the island rebounded, sending it flying into the Pacific. The battle had just ended, and he could still hear the screams, though much more distant than before.

He wrung out the last of the seawater from his coat. It spilled on the face of a particularly ugly corpse of a ghoul. The body had been ripped apart, clean in half by some force that pulled it from both sides. Its intestines let out a foul odor of blood and shit, but mostly blood, the life force of so many humans that fed this monstrosity now slowly leaking out of its open sides.

He made precautions to purposely step on the brute's ugly face.

It was too late, now. Even that last bitch, too damn stubborn to die, had dragged herself off and onto some emergency boat, pretending to be a victim of a terrorist act and acting all cute for the American Coast Guard that had happened to pass a few miles away. She had used up the last of her devilry to protect this place from being seen by mortal eyes- though doing that made her just as mortal. The figure vaguely wondered whether the ungrateful bitch had killed her saviors or not.

He mumbled uncertainly to himself, and the voice echoed among the vaulted corridors as he took a single step into what remained of the Euro-esque castle. The fetid odor of death was rank here as well, though human intermingled with it. Fresh human, not digested. He wondered if that was the ghoul who had rampaged in the city. The boy was some hybrid, now, and that just wouldn't do. Just wouldn't do.

He took no more steps into the castle. He already knew what he had to do. He turned on his heel, and back to where he was needed.


	10. 9: A Worrisome Predicament

9

Fouhai twitched his nose.

Youkai crews scavenged through the rubble and ayashi corpse-trash. The Fairy Tale headquarters was once again floating above the world, though supported by over a thousand heavy-duty American helicopters, which Fouhai had gotten from a friend high up in the American Army. It was being transported to an obscure and very deep part of the ocean. Before the drop could happen, though, the place had to be looted of all of its dark little secrets.

The HQ had been a magnificent palace before Alucard's awakening; it emulated, brick by brick, Bran, the reputed castle of Lord Dracul, in its heyday. But now, it was a shadow of what it was once was; the grand towers were toppled over like toy blocks, the furniture was nothing more than shattered splinters and tattered cloth, the marble walls crushed into pebbles. It was a sad sight, but Fouhai was unable to hold back the feeling of joyous triumphance.

Alucard, being all the educated "gentleman" he had claimed to be, had kept vast libraries, in several locations in the world. One was here, buried under the brick and bodies of the ruins of the castle. Books, protected by powerful spells that protected them from being touched by time, stone, wind, or fire, contained hidden knowledge that had not seen the light of day for hundreds of years (despite the common vampire belief, Alucard had been only a few hundred years old; it was his _family_ that consisted of the oldest vampires; Alucard was only an avid collector of his contemporaries' works).

Mikogami had left with the more up-front valuable treasures, along with any remaining information on Fairy Tale and its members, but Fouhai wasn't bitter. It took a much more sophisticated man to appreciate the ancient and eldritch knowledge written on these pages. Fouhai wasn't such a man, _But, what the hell, I can sure as become one._

Very old tomes the whole lot was, some written in cryptic languages that resembled none that the old man or Google Translate knew. He left those to the more skilled linguists. Chinese copies that showed up, he stacked into the shape of a throne. He had read their titles; ancient histories of forbidden civilizations, lost epics of massive scope, the writings of dragons. Beyond those titles and the volumes' pretty pictures, he had neither the time nor the immediate interest to investigate their contents more thoroughly.

He twitched his nose again. There was a scent in the air. A tingle of energy. The scent was omnipresent here, pervasive in everything, slipping through one's senses so that one must smell it. So powerful was it that it put everyone on edge, it made their skin crawl. The scent was all-too familiar, associated with too many dark memories of times best forgotten. Blood, a searing pain as every cell in his body started to dissolve one by one- Fouhai could remember as the stench hit his nose, as every instinct he had screamed to run away from the agony. But that was several hundred years ago. This was now.

The reek of silver hung low in the air.

A slayer had been here, armed to the teeth with poison weapons, meant to utterly destroy an ayashi's very being. His blade's foul taint marked every single stone, the primal fear of the substance making it impossible to even move without feeling knives pointing into one's skin at every angle. The thickness of it made Fouhai's skin feel greasy… or was that because he hadn't taken a shower in a few weeks? Mikogami had been right about those kids… they were more trouble than they were worth… _I've had way too much stress these last few weeks,_ he thought ruefully; _an old man like me shouldn't have to do this shit. I mean, we could have defeated Alucard, me and Mikogami- that seal had weakened the vampire, but we had regained our strength, it might have just taken longer to kill him outright; the boy and Akasha's daughter were almost dead by the time we got to them- brimming with energy, but that energy was going to kill them, far too much energy for beings at their level to handle… hell, it was far too much for Alucard to handle. So by the time we killed Alucard and disposed of his "children", Mikogami had been stripped of his powers, I can't transform back into my sexy form… and to cap it all off, the werewolf bastard and the pedophile karate guy stole _all_ of my porn! I'm an old man, for Confucius' sake, I need that stuff!_

His expression darkened._ Then we found out about this…_

The slayer had not come onto the mainland, else the traces of his silver would be found in Yokosuka, where nothing but silver jewelry were. He wasn't here, on the island, when the battles were raging, because everyone would have smelled the silver or felt its vile presence… but perhaps he had hidden amongst the chaos. And, obviously, he was long gone by now. It was strange… he took neither the battle here nor on the mainland to strike at someone, anyone at all. There were no casualties involving silver weaponry. What made this case even more unusual was that there was no possible way he could have gotten on the island. There were no traces of him going on the island via submarine, or via helicopter- both underwater and air traffic had been monitored before, during, and after the Alucard incident to prevent any unfortunate humans from seeing anything they shouldn't- and if he had gotten here via water while it was still afloat in the ocean, he would have had to be carrying heavy climbing equipment to scale the acute angle of the cliff alongside their silver weapons (because, while it may sound cool, you can't just use silver knives to climb up a rock wall-they'd bend easily), and then just as heavy duty equipment to get back down, and his vehicle of choice would have been spotted by Japanese surveillance. Whichever way he chose to get here, he would've been seen by some service or another.

"Quite the worrisome case, sir."

Fouhai jumped at the voice. "Oh, Ling, I didn't see you there," he explained, "I'm just being an old man too lost in his thoughts. My, aren't you looking beautiful today?"

Ling Ling Huang frowned. Despite how often she might protest that she was too dirty, or was dressed the wrong way, like now, with an inch of soot covering her crumpled uniform, Fouhai could only admire her natural beauty, still preserved sixty years after her death. A great-great-grandfather could only feel proud that he had made such a beautiful person (her predecessors were just as beautiful), however indirectly, and such a strong person. A tad too stoic, but that was the jiang shi spell affecting her mind.

Fouhai pulled out a cigar, setting it aflame with a flick of his finger, then stuck it in his mouth. "It is _very_ worrisome, Ling." He breathed in, then breathed out, "It isn't often we see a slayer nowadays, besides a few crazed lunatics that have absolutely no idea what the hell they're talking about, and that one completely serious and sane guy who has no idea what he's talking about. And we never see someone so… ineffectual. The fact that he has done _nothing_, this makes the case unique in itself, and leaves his intent ambiguous. He could've been here for the big prizes: Alucard, Gyokuro, the boy as a ghoul, Akasha's daughter, Mikogami, or, of course, Me. Or he could have been here to slaughter us all. Whether he had some other purpose, whether he came late intentionally, the fact he exists at all worries me."

Ling nodded. She said coolly, "I know all of that, sir. What I was going to say that was worrisome was that one of the Fairy Tale is still alive."

Fouhai near jumped out of his seat, and he choked on a cloud of smoke. "Wh-what? Why the hell didn't you tell me first, before I went off into an old man's rambling! Bring me to him before he dies!"

He hopped out of his chair, and Ling hopped (her legs had gone through rigor mortis) before him, and he followed her. She brought him to one of the last intact spires (though the tower that held it had long fallen), which had been flipped over to reveal a single body, not torn apart by the boy-ghoul, but crushed under the rubble. A worker, then, just high enough above a grunt on the evil organization hierarchy that they weren't as expendable and didn't have to throw themselves at incoming death.

Medics were at the body's side, checking IVs that were feeding a blue-black substance, presumably blood, into the body. It was an insectile being of some sort, a cross between a locust, an ant, and a beetle, and its destroyed legs twitched as last impulses coursed through its nerves. Hopefully, it had an intelligent brain, or else Fouhai would have to more extreme measures to extract the information he needed from it, and his granddaughter being here, he would rather not have her seeing him like that.

Ling glared at the insect with disdain- or the expression Ling's stiffened face used to express her utter hatred. Fairy Tale did not sit well with her- their policies on the destruction of jiang shi based on the assumption that they were nothing more than human-created constructs had made her fly into long and terrible rants more than once. Even lowly workers such as this one, she loathed. Maybe, if it came to it, Fouhai would use his more advance interrogation techniques. She would enjoy seeing the insect shudder. "One of the humans found it as it tried to escape," she said, her voice tight and lips pursed whenever she closed them. "We did the work for it."

Fouhai grunted an affirmation, then walked up to the worker. It looked at him with eyes full of knowing, and hate. _So it is intelligent, at some level._ He looked back at it with indifference. "What do you know?" he asked it, using magic to make his voice sound in a thousand different languages.

The insect's mouthparts moved in a peculiar fashion as it talked, as if a thousand metal gears were meshing together and bouncing off, and its voice sounded no different. It spoke in Swahili, "You. I wouldn't tell _you_ even if you tortured me and forced me to stay alive for years on end." Its mouthparts and antennae moved in a pitiful attempt to mimic a human smile. "Normally."

Fouhai squinted suspiciously at it. "Tell me. Are there any Fairy Tale members left? Are they still operating? And if they are, where are they?"

The insect looked away, though with is compound eyes it could obviously still see Fouhai. Its hideous smile was still plastered on its face. "The boss gave me the ability to turn into a human. A human being, the thing we hated yet tried so hard to be. I mean, vampires are nothing more than undead humans held together by magic, so are… zombies."

Ling's teeth pulled back in a glower.

"Thing is," it continued, "I could only use it for a week before the magic faded away. This was a few years back, just to let you know… anyway, I had been in Fairy Tale for a few decades by that time. I had left my nest-community in Somalia searching for real work, joined Fairy Tale for the money- it was good pay for what I was doing, which was simple engineering- though I had no particular hatred for humans, though I find them just as appalling as they may find me.

"It was weird as a human. Only two limbs, standing upright all the time, talking with lips. Weird, but strangely liberating. I could go anywhere I wanted (we had fake IDs and all the money we wanted), I could talk to whoever I wished, human and monster alike, without them looking at me to be some horror. First thing I did was go see a movie at a Tokyo cinema.

"I saw that movie Captain America-"

"Okay, okay, now you're just going off on a tangent," Ling growled. "Tell us all you know right now or we'll rip it out of your brain forcefully."

"Ling, you're not _supposed _say that," Fouhai said pointedly, but then said to the insect, "Yeah, do what she says."

The insect glared at him, if a thing without eyelids could do that. It spat out blood, then continued, "In Captain America, there is an organization like Fairy Tale. I almost laughed, it was so mirroring of all of Fairy Tale's core tenets, goals, and "values"; ethnic cleansing, an unbelievable superiority complex, amongst others. Perhaps we shouldn't have named ourselves after some human concept. We should have named ourselves Hydra.

"I have no particular love for this organization, but I can say this in all the zeal of a madman:

"You can chop as many heads as you want. You can make us weak for a moment. But no matter what, no matter how much you impose this policy of 'peace' and 'love' between monsters and humans, no matter how many of _your_ people bleed for that cause, so many monsters will hate humanity that Fairy Tale will grow back.

"And whether you know it or not… it already has."

* * *

The insect had killed itself. As soon as it uttered those last words, before anyone could react, with its remaining legs it tore at its brains, pieces of black meat flying everywhere. Fouhai hadn't the time to even read whatever thoughts still remained, the matter died too quickly. In less than a minute, he and Ling were left with another mutilated corpse.

Ling could only yell at the futility of the interrogation, wreaking her wrath on any unfortunate soul to cross her; she left Fouhai to dwell on his paper throne.

_Another Fairy Tale… their main weapon against humanity's superior forces, Alucard, is dead; their leader, the she-demon Gyokuro is dead… what are they planning? Are they even organized, now, with Gyokuro dead?_

The stench of silver hit his nose again. _And with the matter on hand… this slayer, who suddenly existed here for one moment, and completely disappeared the next… whose intent is unknown, that we can do nothing about…_

_ Yes, Ling, this is quite worrisome indeed…_


End file.
